My scientological experiment

I studied scientology in a New Religious Groups class at the university a few years ago. The teacher suggested that we all take the preliminary psychological test scientologists give you, and that we could all benefit from some free basic and quite sound Church of Scientology ‘psychotherapy’. At the same time, he strongly advised us against reading the Hubbard very thick ‘bible’, Dianetics.

You really need an open mind to take some genuine interest in religions, and not fall into the trap of seeing a cult at every corner. Studying religions (plural) will likely have that effect, though : that of making you lose your religion, if you had one. All of a sudden, you see that pretty much all religions do make sense. That you could pick one that will make you feel good, but of course you don’t have that strong an interest in any of them in particular. So you become an unreligious person. But never quite unspiritual.

Scientology is not considered a cult. It is a religion that sucks a lot of money from people, once they reach a certain level. People ‘at the top’ did abuse their powers, and much of the whole ideology is bull shit probably, but scientologists have provided many people with effective therapy against drug addictions, etc.

My whole new thing about repressed anger causing pain, a friend of mine told me recently, is not unlike what scientology teaches. The Church of Scientology just puts materiality on these emotions that I must bring to the surface.

The unconscious is a state of repression. Everything that is painful wants to escape the consciousness. We are not masochists. If I learn to express repressed anger and sadness, it is only because it feels good afterwards. There are no other reason. I noticed that crying from anger relives a lot of physical pain. Relieves I mean. Interesting mistake.

I once met a scientologist. I met him on some vocal dating system, the ancestor to Lavalife. I had not been using that service for a very long time. I just wanted to hear voices that night, like people who enjoy browsing through an Ikea catalog, with no interest whatsoever in purchasing anything. I heard this man’s voice and this was exactly the same voice as that of the last man I was in love with (quite madly). Except the height did not match LOL... this man was taller. They were both dragons in Chinese astrology, I am just remembering that. That is, they had exactly the same age. The voice was so much the same that I actually thought it could be Him, lying about his height, but why would he do that. Anyway, I felt quite compelled to leave a message in that man’s box. He responded, with quite a different voice this time. I was still interested, so I called him.

We met on New Year’s Eve of 1999. He was my turn-of-the-century bug. I invited him to my place. Right a-way. We talked on the phone and we met. All happened within ~ 5 hours. He was getting ready to go to some big party. Instead he came to my place. Instead, he came, several times, with me. I did not come once. However, I had much pleasure. It was entirely pleasurable. Actually, it was the best sex I had ever had.

There was something quite special about him. His sense of ease. He was drop-dead gorgeous. He was an amazing lover, an amazing kisser. He had an unusually long and thick penis, I just had a uterine prolapse and had not had intercourse for years. He penetrated me and there was no pain, no difficulty of having him go deep inside me, and pounding me, and I felt him really good and it was, well, quite amazing.

For a while, i.e. days, my uterine prolapse was totally fixed. An angel had passed through my life and had left a biting mark on my tummy.

He left ME for his party after about 3 hours of intense sex. He wish he had stayed but I did not keep him. He never made it to the party. He was caught in a snow storm, so he turned around and went back to his place. It was quite unusual for him to NOT get what he wanted. See, in scientology, people get what they want, if they are ‘clear’... clear of whatever are these particles that they need to bring to the surface through ‘auditing’ (which is psychotherapy). To be fair, he wasn’t clear yet.

In the following week, he sent me a list of phone numbers. Head-hunters. Like he had promised. I was job-less at the time.

I did not call him. He did not call me. We just exchanged a few e-mails.

At some point, I called him. I wanted to have sex. With him. I was able to reach him. It was months after we had met. Calling him after that much time felt and probably was totally inappropriate. He was in the process of moving. As I was talking with him I saw that we had nothing in common. No ‘life interest’ in common. I was quite taken aback by the fact that he was a scientologist. I found that religion quite scary then and considered it a cult. (That was before taking my New Religious Groups class.) I thought he had been joking when he had said that he was ready to ‘audit’ in an e-mail he had sent me, after the sex...

So, during that phone conversation, he asked me if I was still paralysed. I said Yes, of course, it’s chronic. He said : No, it’s not, you can walk again, normally, if you really set your mind to it. I thought it was ridiculous, and still think that way now (99% of the time anyway).

Yet I still wanted to have sex with him. I could not say it. I was unable to ask him that. I was unable to even come close the subject of sex. He did. Quite abruptly, and very sweetly, he asked : ‘Do you need me to scratch your back?’ I said ‘Yes, I would like that’. He said ‘Call me again, use my cell. [He gave me the phone number.] Call me in 2 days, I will then have plenty of time to scratch your back.’ I hung up, and never called again. I fell downward... in my familiar cycle of pain, of love/hatred for everything that has to do with lust. I hate to depend on people. I hate to depend on men for sex : If I had met him again, I would have probably wanted to see him yet again OR I would have felt compelled to look for yet another man to make love with. Something which, at that point, I was totally fed up with. So I did not call him. I chose the comfortable route. I numbed myself, I ‘disconnected’.

That was my authentic scientological experiment.

I googled him a year ago. He’s now a millionaire, and he’s living in New York. I am not kidding you. Scientology, or whatever, made him a very rich man. From nothing.